There's No Knowing Where You Might Be Swept Off To
by Nieriel Raina
Summary: A collection of unrelated, stand alone fics that don't seem to belong anywhere else. These short stories are unrelated to any of my series.
1. Caught!

**This story is unrelated to any series and is a stand alone.**

**Summary:** Pippin's on a mission while visiting Aglarond. Gimli's having trouble with his eyes. And Legolas… Well, Legolas has a problem of his own. Written for the TTT Prompt #14: Disguise

**Rating: PG**

**Warning: **Utter silliness, OOCness abounds. Definitely AU. Do not eat or drink while reading please!

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**Caught!**

**By Nieriel Raina**

"No more, Merry. Those bags are making me itch!"

"Do you want the disguise to work or not? We have to make you bulkier; now be still while I stuff a few more of these sacks into your shirt."

"That's enough. Any more and I'll tip over. Get the hair."

"Legolas is going to notice, you know."

"I don't think so. He never looks there. Now put it on."

"This is never going to look right, Pip. You should just ask Gimli…"

"Hush and put it on."

"It's too straight! Dwarves have frizzier hair."

"You promised, Merry."

"Fine, but when you get caught, I'm pretending I don't know you."

"You always say that."

"Humph."

"Now the boots."

"You won't be able to walk right in them."

"Just help me put them on!"

"Fine. There, all done."

"Well? How does it look?"

"Not too bad. I think you might just get past them. But I still think you should just ask…"

"Not now that I've done all this. Wish me luck."

"I hope you get caught."

"I won't. Just you wait and see."

: - :

Gimli paused as he passed a certain passageway. He caught a glimpse of a small figure with a lantern rounding a bend. No one should be down there at this time of night. Curious, he turned and headed towards the treasury, nodding at the sentries as he passed. As he neared the door, he stumbled to a stop. A strange dwarf had managed to get past the guards and was attempting to pick the lock of the treasury door!

"You there! What goes on here?" The slight frame, combined with other tell-tale signs only a dwarf would note, caused Gimli to raise an eyebrow. A woman? Down here?

The dwarf-woman jerked up, but kept her head low, her features concealed in shadow. But her hair and beard reflected the light - straight and silky, and such an unusual color. In the dimness, her hair appeared to be a mixture of colors - dark red and black, light strawberry blond, even some pale blond and grey streaks. Gimli had never seen such pretty hair on a dwarf-maid! How had he not met this one before?

She said nothing, just stood there trembling.

"Come now, explain yourself, pretty one."

"Gimli, it's not what you think. I'm not a lady dwarf!"

He froze. "Pippin?" His mind scrambled for a way to cover this blunder. In the dark he had mistaken a hobbit in disguise for a dwarf-maid! He'd probably had too many ales with Legolas. Or maybe his eyes were going dim?

"Yes, Gimli, It's me. But I can explain."

"Of course, it's you, Peregrin Took! Did you honestly think I'd mistake you for one of my people in that ridiculous disguise?" That was it. Make the hobbit think he'd been teasing! "Had you going for a minute there." And he laughed with loud guffaws.

"Yes, you sure had me worried."

The hobbit sounded unsure, and considering he'd been caught breaking into Aglarond's treasury room, and dressed as a dwarf to boot, Pippin had good reason to be nervous. "Why are you dressed like that anyway? And what are you doing breaking into my treasury?" He affected a stern frown.

Pippin sighed. "Well, it's just that… Merry said... And Legolas saw…"

Gimli's frown turned to one of confusion. "Just spit it out, laddie!"

Pippin's shoulders drooped as he came clean. "Supposedly there's a whole room full of treasure in there, and I've never got to see it. Merry saw it last time, and Legolas has seen it many times. And they said it's magnificent and you have a jewel the size of an orc's head! And…" He dragged his booted foot on the ground. "I just wanted to see it, too."

Gimli snorted. "Well, why didn't you just ask? I'd have shown it to you and gladly!"

"Really?" Pippin looked excited for a moment, then his face fell. "Will you still show me, Gimli? Even though I tried to sneak in?"

Chuckling, Gimli produced a key from his pocket. "Sure I will. Come." The key turned in the lock and the door groaned open. As they slipped inside, Gimli glanced again at his dwarvishly-clad companion. "Pippin?"

"Yes, Gimli?"

"Where did you get the beard and hair?"

Pippin froze. "Well, you see…."

Gimli shook his head. "Never mind. I don't think I wish to know."

: - :

Legolas hummed to himself as he slipped out of the caves and into the starlight. He smiled up at the stars and then made his way over to where his horse and the others' ponies grazed peacefully. Legolas' dappled grey stallion lifted his head and nickered plaintively. Legolas moved to him and stroked the proud neck with soothing strokes.

"What is it, friend? Are the ponies pestering you? You usually like their company." But his horse tossed his head and whickered again, reaching over to nose one of the smaller mounts.

Legolas looked, and froze in shock. He glanced from pony to pony till finally his gaze rested on the rump of his own horse.

Tailless. Every single pony and his horse had had their tails cut off at the root, leaving nothing but bony stumps. He stood blinking for a full minute before storming back into the caverns. His voice echoed down the glittering halls.

"Peregrin Took! What have you done to my horse?"


	2. Return

**This story is unrelated to any other series and is a stand alone.**

**Warning: Contains some sexual content between a husband and wife. Nothing explicit.  
**

**Summary:** Long she waited for his return, and now the trees whisper, urging her to run. Legolas/OFC This is a stand alone one-shot and not related to any of my series. Written for the Tolkien Tango Prompt #22: Forest

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**Return**

**By Nieriel Raina**

Bainael slowed her steps as the trees rustled. No wind stirred their branches, and she paused to listen to the whispers of the foliage dancing in the sunlight. Her breath stilled, even as her heart began to pound.

He was alive! And he was coming home.

She dropped the basket of herbs she had been gathering and began to run, following the woody voices urging her to find him. Her feet flew over leaves and moss as she slipped through the woods on paths known only to the elves.

The sun sank below the trees, the sunset fading into twilight. The light dwindled to a dusky blue-grey that softened the woods. And then, he was there, just ahead in the trees. She stumbled to a stop, and just looked.

He stood tall and as handsome as she remembered with his golden hair loosed from his warrior's braids. Not far from him, his bow leaned against a tree. At its base, a tumbled heap of his outer tunic and boots half concealed the worn leather pack and his quiver. He'd anticipated her arrival, and it warmed her heart.

Then he smiled and held his arms open for her. Bainael covered the last few yards and threw herself against him, wrapping him in her own embrace. How she had missed him over the past year, fretted she would never see him again, worried he was injured, tired or hungry.

But now he held her, his hands caressing her back, sliding up her sides, burying in her hair. Neither spoke a word, for nothing needed to be said. Bainael tilted her head back and let him capture her lips in a fiery kiss.

Her hands moved over his back, up to his shoulders, then down to grasp his backside. Oh, yes, she'd sure missed _that! _He chuckled and skimmed his lips along her jaw, then up to nibble behind her ear, before trailing a burning path down her neck to the exposed skin above the neckline of her dress.

She groaned and tipped her head back further to give him better access, but he lifted his head, his eyes sparkling with longing. A moment later she found herself on her back in the soft ferns under an ancient oak. Another moment and he attacked her dress ties with skillful fingers. Her own began to work, untying, tugging, and pulling until they both lay bare to the other's gaze.

Slowly, they explored one another for the first time in a year. But the soft touches turned to needy caresses, until she pulled him to lie over her, nestled between her thighs. Their tenderness turned to desperation, a need to join, to reassure each other this was no dream. Until at last, they cried out, their spirits mingling as they only did in this moment where their bodies also became one.

: - :

The stars shone overhead. Legolas held his love in his arms feeling content and sated as he hadn't in too long. Many things had changed for him. Life would never be as it once had for them. The sea called to him, its luring melody haunting him. He had made promises to his mortal friends – oaths to return, which he would keep. At the time, he had not considered that his wife might not wish to join him, either in Ithilien or Elvenhome. Now he could think of nothing else. He would be lost without her!

Fingers traced from his brow down his cheek, turning his head so he looked into her eyes. "Much has changed," she noted, searching his eyes.

He nodded, glancing away, but that determined finger would not let him be for long. She drew him back, smiled sadly up at him. "Where you go, I go. Your home is my home. Your king, my king."

And finally, after months of dark battles, loss and turmoil, Legolas found peace.

: - :


	3. The Stranger

**This story is unrelated to any other series and is a stand alone.**

**Summary:** A young boy meets a stranger on a beach in the early 20th century. Written for the Tolkien Tango Prompt Challenge #10: Prophecies

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_And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, _

_and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after._

**~ Prophecy of the North, The Silmarillion**

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On the shores of Ennorath he stands, tall and proud and free.

With a fiery scar burned in his hand, his eyes forever scan the sea.

_-Excerpt from a poem entitled The Tale of Maglor_

**The Stranger**

**By Nieriel Raina**

The boy scampered barefoot down the beach, heedless of any danger. His pants were rolled up to his knees, his shirt sleeves flapped in the wind. He held a bucket with a shovel in one hand as he puttered down the beach.

On dunes above, a couple spread a blanket and unpacked a picnic basket. The woman stood, shading her eyes with her hand. "Jack!" she called to her son, taking a few steps down the dune. "Jack, don't go too far. We're to be eating soon."

The boy glanced over his shoulder, frowning. "But mum, I'm not hungry! Can't I play first?"

She glanced at her husband, who nodded with a small smile. "Very well, but come back when I call you." She swept her gaze up and down the deserted beach once more, biting her lip. "Did you hear me, Jack?"

"Yes, mum!" The boy called back. He resumed his examination of the shoreline, searching for small sea creatures and shells. Every now and again, he'd stop and scoop something up with his little shovel and dump it in the pail. His steps took him a ways down the beach as it curved, taking him from sight of his parents. He left small footprints in the wet sand where the surf had not washed them away.

A shiny object caught his eye as the waves pulled back, and he trotted out to investigate. The retreating wave lapped at his ankles as he reached down to pick up what he'd seen. It was just a piece of sea glass, but he dropped it in his bucket. The returning wave surprised him as it rushed in, soaking him up to his thighs.

"Be careful," a strange voice said from nearby. "The tide's coming in. You don't want to be washed out to sea."

Jack looked up as a shadow fell over him. Standing in the surf beside him was the most interesting person he'd ever seen!

The stranger was very tall, taller than his father even! His dark hair was long, so long it hung well past his shoulders. He wore a billowy white shirt, half open to the wind exposing part of his bare chest. It was belted at his waist, and his britches were also rolled to his knees. His hands were on his hips as he looked out over the waves with such longing, it made Jack want to cry.

"Are you sad?" he asked the stranger. Curiosity was something his mother often told him he had way too much of.

The stranger nodded.

"Why?"

"Because I am alone," the stranger answered.

Jack didn't know what to say about that. He didn't understand why being alone would make someone so sad. Jack liked being alone if it meant his mother wasn't telling him what to do. "What's your name?"

The stranger's lips turned up in a sad smile, but he didn't turn to look at Jack. "Mac Alowry." He lifted one hand to push a strand of hair from his eyes, and Jack saw his palm was deeply scarred.

"How'd you get that?" Jack pointed to the scar, blinking up at the stranger with curious eyes. Scars were like badges of honor to Jack! Surely Mac had done something courageous to earn such a mark.

Dark eyes shifted from the waves and fell upon Jack. He gulped. Those eyes were dark, yet full of light and something that made the boy squirm. He had thought the stranger was younger than his father, but Mac's eyes were old - older than Grandfather's eyes.

"I touched something I should not have touched, and it left its mark on me." His gaze returned to the west over the sea.

"Did it hurt?" Jack couldn't help but ask. He was too young to know that asking such questions might be considered rude.

The stranger nodded again. Mac didn't seem to like to talk much. "It still hurts," he admitted.

Jack felt bad about that. While scars were fun to show off, injuries that still ached were no fun at all. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. Again the stranger nodded without saying more.

Another wave came in, much higher this time and Jack ran back to the dry sand. The stranger remained standing in the surf as the waves drifted further and further in. "Aren't you going to come out?" Jack asked, worried about the stranger, though the waves didn't move Mac a bit.

Mac shook his head, never taking his eyes from the horizon.

"Why are you alone?"

"I am the last, but soon I will return home."

The words both confused and made Jack feel better. Mac must have family somewhere. Everybody had family. And soon Mac would be going home.

"Jack! Jack, where are you? It's time to come back and eat." His mother's voice rang over the sound of the waves.

"Coming, mum!" he called. He cast another look at Mac still standing in the waves. Had the water come in that far? Or had the stranger walked further into the surf?

"Jack! Right now!"

"Yes, mum!" He started to run towards the voice calling him, but paused to look back once more. Mac turned to look at him again with those dark, bright eyes. "I hope you find your family soon. Enjoy your trip home!"

Mac nodded once more, turning back to the western horizon.

Jack jogged back to where his parents sat and fell into his food with gusto. He wanted to get back to Mac. He'd never met anyone like the stranger before. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, earning a glare from his mother, he hastily asked if he could return to the beach. His mother nodded, but told him not to go too far.

Jack jumped up, forgetting his pail in his hurry to return to the stranger. But when he rounded the bend in the beach, he could see no sign of the stranger.

Mac was gone.

: - :

Macalaurë opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor of a strange room. He was no longer wet, and could no longer feel the crush of the water in which he'd drowned. He blinked and stood to his feet, turning to find he was not alone.

The Other sat on a carven throne, grey eyes intent upon Macalaurë. This was no stranger to the elf, and oddly he felt no dread. He noticed nothing but those amaranthine eyes, so much older than his own.

Finally, the Vala spoke. "It took you long enough."

Macalaurë nodded. "I am ready now."

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Lord Námo's lips though no amusement shone in his eyes.

"Good."

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A/N – We don't really know Maglor's fate so I've taken some license. Jack's identity I'll leave to your imagination.

The excerpt from The Tale of Maglor is mine.


	4. The Strange Conversations Habits of Elly

**This story is unrelated to any other series and is a stand alone.**

**Summary: **In Lothlórien, Arwen overhears a group of elf-men speaking and tries to make sense of their conversation. Written for The Tolkien Tango Prompt #35: Voices. This story is based on a trip to Panera and dedicated to the group of young college men who were unaware I listened to every word.

**For those unfamiliar with the Sindarin terms for elf men and women:**

ellon/ellyn – elf-man/men

elleth/ellith - elf-maiden/s

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**The Strange Conversation Habits of Ellyn**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**Lothlórien**_

_**Year 292, Third Age**_

Arwen sighed contentedly as her fingers worked the needle in and out of the material held in the wooden frame upon her lap. Lothlórien was much more peaceful than Imladris. Here, one could truly think while she worked, without the bustle typical in her home. She knew the activity was no less here than in the Last Homely House, but because her grandparent's realm exceeded the small valley her father protected, there were less people around, more space, rooms actually filled with silence….

A shout of laughter broke her reverie, and she lifted her head from her needlework, frowning at the group of ellyn across the room. Their voices drifted to her in hushed whispers, accentuated from time to time with a louder comment, and then drifting back to typical conversational levels.

She shook her head and considered next time visiting with_out _her family. She loved her brothers and the many close members of their household, but she had hoped for some time to think, to ponder life in general, and her life in particular. Having reached her majority the previous spring, Arwen felt it was time to come to know herself and her own mind.

A loud snort, followed by guffaws and back slapping interrupted her thoughts again. Confused, she began to pay more attention to the goings on across the room from her.

It had begun when Elladan, Elrohir, and Glorfindel had entered the room and gathered in chairs around a table. They had seemed to be discussing something serious at that time in low voices. Their conversation had been a steady and even comforting hum in the background as she worked. Indeed, if it had been completely silent, Arwen doubted she could concentrate, so used was she to _some _noise other than the rustle of leaves in the mellryn trees.

But now… Arwen's eyes darted from one male to another. Over the course of the last hour, Erestor and then the three Galadhren brothers, Haldir, Rúmil and Orophin, had joined the threesome. Rúmil and Orophin had pulled up chairs and the conversation had taken a turn from serious to jovial. Haldir leaned over his brothers, smiling and joining in the discussion, often with animated hand gestures. Across the table, Erestor took a similar stance, only he leaned his hands on the table between Glorfindel and Elrohir.

As she watched, the group laughed, Elladan throwing back his head, Elrohir holding his belly and the rest chuckling while Erestor turned red in the face, stepping back with a frown. Then in the next moment, Glorfindel leaned forward, tilting the chair onto the front two legs, and pointed dramatically at something she could not see on the tabletop. His voice dropped, then he sat back with a thump as the rear chair legs came down on the floor. He crossed his arms, looking quite smug. Heads shook, eyebrows raised, strange looks were exchanged.

Haldir leaned in, pounding a fist on the table as he talked. Erestor rolled his eyes and said something to Elrohir, who nodded. More whispering. Elrohir shook his head.

Arwen felt dizzy! What in Arda were they discussing? She jumped in her seat when Elladan reached around Orophin and swatted Haldir on the backside, earning a swat on the back of the head from Glorfindel.

_Ellyn are strange_, Arwen thought. Yet her curiosity got the better of her, and she gathered her work and stood, surreptitiously moving to a seat closer to the hearth (it _was _chilly in the room) and thus nearer to the congregated ellyn. She listened. For fifteen minutes, she sat, catching every word, but making no sense of any of it. Now that she could understand them, there seemed to be three of four conversations going on at once.

Glorfindel and Haldir, across the table from one another, discussed battle tactics, swordplay and went over practical scenarios. Erestor glanced up and made some comment about a maneuver, then rejoined Elrohir and Rúmil's discussion about some elleth Rúmil had his eye on. Arwen's brows rose as Rúmil described a time he had stumbled across the maiden bathing, and he had watched her. Arwen made a mental note not to strip completely naked anymore when she swam in the Bruinen, for apparently, from the laughing comments of Erestor and Orophin (who jumped into the discussion for a sentence or two), it was commonplace for ellyn to spy on unclad maidens! Her cheeks heated.

"But why do they keep it secret?" Elladan asked.

Arwen blinked. Keep what secret? Were they still discussing the elleth bathing?

Glorfindel shook his head. "I don't know. Tradition?" He shrugged.

She was not sure she wanted to know what he meant.

"But if you raise your sword to block," Elrohir answered Haldir, "you leave your left side open."

"Not if you pull your dagger," Elladan butted in.

Orophin scratched his head. "But generally, ellyn are the ones who do the cooking. So why do the ellith need to bake the lembas? Do they have to do everything we do in some capacity?"

Erestor shook his head. "It's no different than those ellyn, who like Lindir, play instruments. Surely you don't think that's only something ellith do?" Several of the group shook their heads, though Arwen could not follow if they were disagreeing about making lembas or about drawing a dagger.

Rúmil sat up straight, his face paling. "NO! I haven't asked her to marry me! Are you crazy?"

Haldir leaned in and whispered something about the low neckline of some elleth's dress. Arwen glanced down at her own scooped neckline, revealing just a tiny bit of cleavage. Her mouth dropped open when Glorfindel – GLORFINDEL!!! – leered and leaned in to add his own observations of female anatomy.

She would have to alter all her gowns!

"But if you grab," Erestor said making a crude gesture, "and thrust…"

Arwen stood with a gasp, dropping her embroidery. "Why, I never!" She glared at the group, who all glanced at her with confused and surprised expressions. "You are all the most ill spoken and debauched group of ellyn I've ever seen or heard!" And with that, she stormed out of the room, furious, confused and horrified. "Naneth!" She really needed to fix her dresses immediately!

The group around the table exchanged glances. Haldir smirked, crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the back of Orophin's chair. Glorfindel leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the table and shaking his head. Erestor looked stunned. Elladan and Elrohir just grinned at each other, reaching across the table to touch fists in a brotherly salute. Rúmil rubbed his chin and Orophin shoved Haldir off his chair.

"What did we say?" Orophin asked.

"Who knows," Elladan replied. "Ellith have such delicate sensibilities."

Glorfindel chuckled. "I forgot she was in here, or I'd have been more careful in what I was saying."

Erestor shook his head. "I can't believe she thought…" He buried his red face in his hands.

Elrohir cocked his head to the side. "So why do _only_ the ellith cook the lembas?"

The conversation resumed.

:-:

Galadhren – the adjective form of the word for the race of Galadrim.

Lembas – a waybread made, according to Laws and Customs, by the women according to ancient law. Male elves in general, at least among the Noldor, did most of the cooking and women were more likely to play instruments.

Mellyrn – plural of mallorn, a tree found in Lothlórien

Thank you for reading!


	5. Drip, Splatter, Ploof!

**This story is unrelated to any other series and is a stand alone.**

**Summary: **Just another day in Imladris early in the Third Age, and Erestor is enjoying himself at Glorfindel's expense. Written for the Tolkien Tango Prompt #17: Fault

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**Drip. Splatter, Ploof!**

**By Nieriel Raina**

_**Imladris**_

_**Year 149, Third Age**_

"It's not my fault!" The golden-haired warrior frowned, looking back over his shoulder. For all his words sounded assured, that glance proved his doubt.

"It _is_ your fault." Erestor kept walking, wishing to remove himself from the vicinity before Elrond should happen to show up and his proximity to the scene be taken to mean he also held some guilt in the matter.

A heavy sigh came from beside him. "It's _not_ my fault." This time it was said with far less certainty; more like mumbled in a sulky tone sounding more like one of the twins.

Erestor wanted to laugh. He fought with his mirth, struggling to keep his face serene. His lips would not cooperate. He could feel them twitching despite himself.

"Don't you _dare_ laugh."

Ah, the voice turned menacing. This just got better and better. "I'm n-not…ahem, I'm not laughing." But he could feel his eyes shining with amusement, despite his efforts to control his outer response.

"I'm warning you, so much as one chuckle…."

Erestor shook his head, while ducking his face so his hair hid his expression like a shiny black curtain. "I w-wouldn't," he coughed, "dare laugh," a snort disguised as a sneeze, "at you."

_"It's not my fault!"_

He lost the battle as his shoulders began to shake with his repressed snickers. Then something hit him full on the back with a soft splat. He spun around, eyes wide. "You did not!"

Glorfindel's lips were now the ones twitching. "You can't prove it."

Having no need to glance around for other culprits, Erestor narrowed his eyes, feeling something sliding down his back and plopping to the ground. He removed his robe, leaving him clad in a loose tunic, comfortable leggings and soft doeskin boots. He examined the muddy splatter on his clothing, a plan forming in his mind. "You will pay for that," he hissed.

Glorfindel's expression turned wry as he crossed his arms. "What are you going to do? Throw more on me?" he asked dryly.

It was too much. Erestor laughed as he took a good long look at his friend. Glorfindel's normally glorious, golden hair hung limp, mud-spattered and dripping brown water. His attire was nearly black with mud. One boot was missing, leaving the remaining sock filthy. Even his friend's face…. Erestor snickered. That probably had been from where Glorfindel had scraped the mud thrown at Erestor's back.

"Nah," Erestor continued to laugh. "I suppose you are filthy enough. But you deserved it. You all but started that mud fight between the twins, goading them into it! I am not surprised they turned on you."

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed to slits, which, with the amount of muck on his face, only increased Erestor's mirth. "What will you tell Elrond."

"Ah, you mean the father of those elflings that you were supposed to keep out of trouble? Not a thing." He threw Glorfindel a sly look. "Celebrían on the other hand…" He thought he saw Glorfindel pale under the mud, but it had to be his imagination. The Captain simply had no skin visible.

"You wouldn't?" Glorfindel choked out.

Erestor smirked. "I wouldn't, if you had not thrown mud on my favorite robe. But since you have done so…." He spun on his heel and resumed his walk – this time with more purpose in his step – his dirty robe draped over his arm. But all his senses were alert, his muscles all but twitching in anticipation...

"Why you!!!"

Erestor sprinted away, even as he heard Glorfindel begin pursuit. His robe slipped to the ground as he ran, laughing and darting just out of reach of his companion. Glorfindel was a mighty Noldorin warrior, but all that bulk, which served him well in a fight, slowed him down in comparison to Erestor's more agile Sindarin frame.

He achieved the Last Homely House first, slipping down halls, changing direction and doubling back. Once sure he had lost his pursuer, Erestor jogged back outside, retrieved his robe and headed back towards the pond where the young twins still wrestled in the mud. He donned his mud-streaked robe, plopped on the bank, and waited with a smile on his face.

Elrond found him about ten minutes later, took one look at Erestor's back, glanced at his mud-covered sons and sighed. "My apologies, Erestor. The boys can get out of hand sometimes." He glanced around the clearing. "Where is Glorfindel?"

Hiding his amused expression by casting a glance towards the Last Homely House, Erestor replied, "Oh, I expect he'll show up any minute now." He turned back towards the elflings, who were currently throwing handfuls of mud at the other, oblivious to their father's presence.

The moment the twins realized Elrond gazed at them disapprovingly was priceless. Wide-eyed, they stood blinking through dripping dark locks, identical expressions of horror on their faces. Elladan recovered first, stepping forward while with one hand, he attempted to push his brother behind him. The eldest had a protective streak when it came to Elrohir.

Thinking Elladan would now take responsibility for their grimy condition, Erestor nearly choked when instead Elladan said, "It's all Glorfindel's fault." Erestor's head jerked to take in Elrond's expression.

Elrond barely blinked. "Oh really?"

As if on cue, Glorfindel showed up, puffing from his exertions and glaring at Erestor. Elrond took one look at his Captain and snorted. "I _had_ doubted you were at fault, Glorfindel, but your appearance says otherwise. I assume you will see that my sons are clean before they return to their mother." It wasn't a question, and Glorfindel blanched at the reprimand-laced remark.

"Of course, my lord." He smiled grimly, a dark humor suddenly lighting his eyes.

Erestor frowned. That dangerous look hinted that he would not like what Glorfindel said next..

"Erestor volunteered to help supervise a swim in the stream. We'll scrub them clean, and their clothes can dry in the sun."

Elrond lifted a brow and nodded. He seemed appeased.

Erestor on the other hand… He glared at the Captain as Elrond headed back towards the house. "_I _volunteered, did I?"

A satisfied smile spread across Glorfindel's face. "Indeed."

Not minding in the least, for the day was warm and he felt the need to refresh himself, Erestor stood. But he removed his robe and threw it at the infamous Balrog Slayer, who caught it in one hand. "Fine. But _you _are scrubbing that clean."

Glorfindel bowed low, sweeping out a hand for Erestor to lead the way to the stream.

"Oh, no. _You _lead the way." He turned sharp eyes on the elflings. Surprisingly, they had remained silent through all the adults' conversation. Now they stood looking thoroughly too aware they had gotten away with something. "Come on, you two. Time for a swim." The twins needed no other prompting.

Erestor followed the filthy trio, smiling and actually looking forward to a nice swim. His fingers twirled a reed that he had cut from the pond shallows. His eyes scanned the forest floor until he found a small stone just the right size. He fit it into one end of the reed, put the other to his mouth and…

_Ploof_

The rock shot out and hit Glorfindel in the back of the head. He spun around, glaring at the twins. "That is not funny."

Elladan and Elrohir blinked at him, then glanced at each other. "We didn't do it," they chorused in unison.

Erestor kept his face straight, the reed hidden behind his back, slipped into the waistband of his leggings. When Glorfindel looked at him suspiciously, he shrugged, empty hands raised palms up.

Glorfindel sniffed and looked up at the sky, then resumed their trek to the stream.

Erestor stooped, picked up another stone and grinned. When the twins caught sight of him, he lifted a finger to his lips. They giggled and turned back around.

_Ploof_

"Hey!"

Oh, it was a good day!

: - :

A/N – The twins are the equivalent to human boys of about eight here.

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Let me know!


	6. Odd Circumstances

**This story is NOT part of any series. It is a stand alone fic and unrelated to any other work.**

**Rating: **PG-13

**Warning: **some references to sexual acts between married persons, but nothing graphic

**Summary: **Upon arriving in Emyn Arnen, Legolas and Aragorn find reason for suspicion, but upon investigation, will Legolas have found more than he can handle? Written for the Tolkien Tango Prompt #39: Disorder

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**Odd Circumstances**

_**By Nieriel Raina**_

Legolas drew his mount to a halt beside Aragorn's horse, looked around the deserted stable yard, then glanced at his friend. A frown creased Aragorn's brow as he dismounted.

"It's quiet," Legolas murmured. Too quiet, he thought, as he joined his friend on the ground. His eyes searched for any sign of life near the keep. All remained still, a stark contrast to the active town at the base of the hill, where people worked, laughed and young children played along the paths.

"Indeed." Aragorn started toward the stable, concern clear in his grey eyes. "Let us stable the horses and then find out just why Faramir's keep is too peaceful."

Legolas nodded, but then noticed a short man, his head covered in a large, floppy hat, hurrying to them from the small house just beyond the stable. "Aragorn," he said, pointing to the harried looking man, whose arms waved at them to stop. "Is that not Perthon, the stable master?"

"It is." Aragorn waited for the man to approach. Legolas tensed, and sent his senses outward, searching for the source of the trouble. Something was wrong here, and yet, he sensed no danger or turmoil. In fact, he could feel high spirits emanating from the stable master's home. So why did Perthon look so distraught?

"Me lords!" Perthon called as he approached. He stopped before them, swept off his hat and bowed low, then stood there breathing heavily from his exertions. The top of his balding head came to just above Aragorn's middle, and despite his unease, Legolas smiled. Perthon might be small of stature, but the man had a big heart.

"What has happened?" Aragorn asked. His hand, Legolas noted, rested on Anduril's hilt.

"Nothing, me lords!" the man gasped out, looking even further alarmed. "At least," he cleared his throat and looked at the ground nervously before glancing up. "Can I help ye, me lords?" He smiled as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Legolas and Aragorn shared a glance, then Aragorn spoke. "We have come to meet with your lord and have urgent business with him. If you could call a boy to stable our horses…"

"Oh no, that won't do at all, me lord!" The man looked horrified. At Aragorn's questioning look, Perthon stumbled over excuses. "Er…all the boys, ye see, are busy running errands and fetching this or that and cleaning tack and such." Aragorn gave the man a look of disbelief, but Perthon continued. "And the grooms, well, they all be in their cups and not fit at the moment for handling horses. We weren't expecting no one else this eve, ye see."

"I don't see anything," Legolas commented, narrowing his eyes at the man. Everything about this situation seemed wrong, though Perthon was a good man, loyal to Faramir. And yet, he hid something.

Perthon's face turned a deep shade of red. He crushed his hat in his hands and shuffled his feet. Legolas took note Perthon did not meet either of their gazes as he spoke. "The stable is, er, occupied at the moment, me lords. But we could tie them out here for just a wee bit. I'll see they get lots of fresh water and hay." He smiled. "There's buckets and hay behind the stable. No need to go inside for those."

Legolas frowned. Why was the man avoiding going inside the stable? The man was the stable master! Just what went on within to cause such strange behavior?

Aragorn's stance widened. He dropped his horse's reins and folded his arms across his chest. "Perhaps you can be so good as to explain what occupies the stable and causes you to turn so red in the face?" His voice was soft, yet compelling - a king's voice expecting answers. "A couple of youngsters having a roll in the hay perhaps?"

Perthon's face went white. "Oh, naught of concern, me lord! No cause to worry. If ye just head on up to the master's hall, I'm sure Mithwen will see ye have refreshments. I'll take the horses, me lords."

Legolas stepped even with Aragorn, catching Perthon's eye. "The lord and lady are there?"

"Th-the lord and hi-his lady… Er, that is, they are, um, oc-occupied at the moment. But go on up, and Mithwen will look after ye. See?" He pointed up towards the keep where an older woman with graying hair stood with a smile, waving them up. "She'll see ye settled and my lord and lady will be with ye…as soon as they can, me lords."

There was no way Aragorn would accept that answer, Legolas knew. "Legolas?"

But he was already moving. "I'm going." Legolas strode to the stable.

Perthon, on his heels, plead for him to stop. "Oh, please, me lord! No, don't ye be going in there!" Legolas shook off the man's hand as Perthon dared to reach for Legolas's sleeve. "Please, me lord king, I beg you! Please stop him! You don't understand…."

Nothing short of Faramir appearing and ordering Legolas from entering the stable would stop him from investigating the odd circumstances. He opened the door, entered and closed it behind him, shutting the stable master out. He reached a hand to his knife hilt at his belt and left it there as he began a search of the building.

Strange noises came from further within the stable, and Legolas walked in that direction. Moans? Was someone injured? He crept closer, intent on finding the source of the disturbance.

-o-

As soon as Legolas entered the stable, Aragorn grabbed Perthon with one hand, dragging him back and demanding answers, but Perthon was overwrought and just babbled inane nonsense. Every sign pointed to something being terribly wrong here. And yet, he had no sense of evil or evil intent.

Then a roar sounded from within the stable. The door slammed open, bouncing off the side of the building. Legolas darted out, his face white, his expression horrified.

The elf stopped in his tracks as Perthon shouted at him. "Ye see now? I told ye! I told ye not to go barging in there!" Perthon made a hasty escape towards his house, muttering as he went. "Not be on me head. I told them, I did! Not me fault."

A moment later Faramir appeared in the doorway, his shirt hanging open. His fingers were busy fastening his breeches. Straw stuck out of his hair at odd angles, and his face was contorted in rage.

"AND STAY OUT!" Faramir bellowed, as he exited the stable, his eyes flashing in fury unlike Aragorn had ever seen on the man. Legolas just stood there, his back to Faramir and the stable. Color bloomed on the elf's cheeks; he lowered his head until his hair covered his face.

Faramir's angry eyes landed on Aragorn and his shouting ceased as his mouth dropped open. "My lord king?" He blinked, then glanced at the elf as if only just realizing who he had thrown out of the stable.

Behind Faramir, another form exited. Eowyn stood there, her clothes rumpled and looking as if they had been donned in haste. Her hair hung in wild disarray, loose around her shoulders. Bits of straw fell from the golden strands as she stepped to her husband's side and laid a hand on Faramir's arm. Amusement shone from her eyes and her lips twitched as if she tried not to laugh.

Aragorn stood speechless, his eyes frozen on the sight of what could only be his Steward and the White Lady of Ithilien having been interrupted…

Aragorn clamped his lips together tightly to stop from laughing, but he couldn't stop the half snort that escaped.

Legolas spun around, his eyes to the ground. "Forgive me, Faramir. I didn't…ahem, I didn't see a thing." Then he hurried to his horse's far side and buried his face in the grey mane. From where Aragorn stood, he thought he heard something about "bizarre habits of mortals" and "copulating in outlandish places".

Eowyn's hand covered her mouth as her shoulders began to shake. She didn't look the least chagrined or embarrassed. Aragorn grinned at Faramir, then wrapped his arms around his middle as the laughter overtook him.

Faramir glared at them all. "It's not funny," he declared, the red of his face not dissipating. Knowing his steward as he did, Aragorn suspected the man's anger had turned to embarrassment.

"Oh don't mind them, my love," Eowyn soothed, rubbing her husband's arm, though her mirth still shone in her eyes. "I know for a fact the king has been caught with his queen in a similar situation before. He understands your discomfiture!" She winked at him, and Aragorn felt his cheeks heat.

"That wasn't my fault either," Legolas mumbled from behind his horse, followed by something that sounded remotely like "never getting married" and "makes people act most bizarre".

Faramir's lips began to twitch. "Well, I suppose if the king can get caught rolling in the hay…"

"I'll just put the horses in the stable," Legolas declared, keeping himself between the beasts and his face out of sight as he led their mounts inside.

As soon as the elf disappeared, Aragorn shook his head, smiling. "I believe this is the third time he's stumbled across such a scene."

"Third?" Eowyn asked with a laugh. "And who was the other?"

Aragorn grinned at her. "I believe Eomer and Lothiriel were the first."

Her laugh echoed in the yard. "Poor Legolas." She shook her head. "He really needs a wife," she said, looking after the elf with a bemused smile.

Aragorn snorted. "But do you think if he should wed, he'll allow himself to participate in such activities in a barn?"

Eowyn lifted a mischievous brow. "Well, I would hope if he did," she grinned at them, "that he gets caught in the act!"

"Serve him right," came Faramir's half amused reply.

-o-

Gimli mumbled to himself, chaffing his gloved hands against his arms as he stomped his way to the stable. An early winter had settled heavy on the lands of Gondor, covering everything in a blanket of pure white snow. He'd definitely be wintering in Ithilien as he had no intention of attempting the trip back to Aglarond in such weather.

Upon reaching the structure, he grasped the door and pulled. It opened on silent hinges, thanks to the care he'd given to oiling the things the day before. Why Legolas had allowed the metal to make such a sound… He shook his head and entered the warmth, shutting the door noiselessly behind him. Patting his pocket, he found the carrots he'd brought for his pony.

He was fishing them out when he heard odd noises coming from the back of the barn. He froze, listening. There! A slight groaning sound! His feet making little sound in the thick sandy loam of the stable aisle, he hurried to the back stall, thinking one of the horses might be in distress.

Throwing open the stall door, which he noted absently squeaked as badly as the stable door had before he oiled it, he entered, his feet stumbling to a halt, his eyes nearly popping from his head.

-o-

Legolas slowly lifted his head at the creak and gasp. This was simply NOT happening! He had made sure he'd have warning, but there had been no sound from the squeaky hinges of the stable door! He turned his head, his horrified gaze meeting Gimli's shocked eyes. Oh, of all people to have caught him in such a thing! "Just turn around and walk away, Gimli," he said hoarsely. "You didn't see a thing."

Gimli dropped his eyes, backing out of the stall, his face nearly as red as his beard. "Not a thing," he muttered, spinning on his heel and stomping down the stable aisle. Legolas thought he heard the dwarf say something about "strange elves" and "belong behind locked doors".

Beneath him, his wife snickered, her fingers trailing down his bare back. "Oh, the look on his face!" she gasped.

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. "I'll never live this down…"

"Probably not," she agreed, her fingers dipping lower.

Grinning against her bare shoulder, Legolas couldn't stop the laughter. "Poor Gimli! He needs a wife!" Then he gasped as her leg wrapped around him, reminding him of just why he was sprawled over her in the hay.

End

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


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